


Treasures lost, treasures found

by MiraculousEyraCat (KuwaNeko)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Gen, Oh, might end up being a series of oneshots, oh and ghosts, right now it's just a one shot, this is a bit more of a... origin story for my oc's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 02:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7783873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuwaNeko/pseuds/MiraculousEyraCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘This entire land is an indian burial ground.’</p><p>Only, sometimes, such grounds can keep more than just stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treasures lost, treasures found

**Author's Note:**

> In which, by creating a kwami, I ended up creating a character and a back-story to go with them
> 
> In which my brain goes crazy trying to find the history of my land pre Columbus' arrival.
> 
> And finally, in which finding names takes me to learning of the current costarrican aborigine groups, parts of their origin stories, and my brain just decides to run with it... (non of which is really part of this prologue of sorts).

_‘This entire land is an indian burial ground.’_  
He’d grown up knowing those words, if maybe not truly understanding them.

 _‘There are pots in the ground; your grandma found some in our backyard’_ mom had told him once.

 _‘This entire place is an indian burial ground’_ had repeated his aunt another time, _‘Doña Mirella found some pots once, with cacao coins in them and all, after about a week of seeing floating fires playing in her backyard.’_

 _‘Well yes, this entire place is an indian burial ground’_ had said his grandma after hearing about a neighbors story of his kid’s imaginary friend ‘The Indian’ who had opened two doors in front of her when he said he’d leave.

 _‘Did I ever tell you of that time an ocarina kept waking me up in the middle of the night?’_ His aunt had asked him once after a light-bulb had mysteriously broken like it’d been cut. _‘I started memorizing the entire song, yet the day I had it completely memorized and was going to hum along, the melody changed.’_

 _‘Wasn’t it one of the neighbors?’_ He’d asked her, 'cause yes, weird coincidence… but…

 _‘This family is the only one in this neighborhood that ever cared for learning any music,’_ she’d said rather dismissively, and had grimaced adding _‘other than that kid who fancies himself a drummer now.’_

 _'This house is really calm’_ had said the landlady. He’d later remember her saying something about the previous tenant mentioning seeing a playful little indian in the washing room, when he’d thought the dog had hit the door and gone checking only to find him soundly asleep two rooms over.

 _'This entire place is a burial ground’_ he repeated to himself, flinching at the sound of breaking pottery, loud enough not to be drowned by the ploughing tractor’s motor.

_'A burial ground… Where are the archeologists? Why’s no one care…?’_

“They’re not our people, for one…”

As soft as his friend’s voice had been, he’d nearly scared him to death, having neither heard him approach, nor expected it in the first place. “W-what?” he stammered.

“We don’t see them as our people, as much as you might say otherwise, what do we even know of them…?” And even if we did care, even though some of us do care, what do you expect us to do about harvest? It’s our income; our lives. It’s just not worth it…”

"Not worth?” appalled, he’d turned around to look at his friend, finding his face with a calm determination he’d rarely seen before.

“Look at me” his friend had said “look me in the eyes and tell me some abstract knowledge hidden in some clay pots is worth more than our lives.”

He’d shrunk back unable to; his friend was right, as much as the knowledge would be nice to have, would likely be able to teach them of the lost stories of half of their distant ancestry… the farmers could not do without production, and the government would not be paying any form of compensation…

“How did…?” he mumbled instead

His friend’s eyes sparkled with mirth, recognizing the change in subject and knowing he’d won this round “I know what you were thinking? It was written all over your face, and I also know you well enough by now.” He paused for a moment, and proceeded to bump into him, adding “Now come, you promised me you’d help me fix the fence while you were here, let’s do it quick so we can come eat lunch.”

Thankful for the change in subject, and looking forwards to lunch he smiled back, and warned “Don’t know how much help I can be, remember I’ve never done this before.”

“As long as you don’t end up breaking it, we’ll be fine”

“I’ll try.” laughing and nodding he followed, pausing and turning around towards the field once more at yet another cracking sound. His eyes were drawn to a small metallic gleam as it plummeted back to the ground.

“Coming?”

“Ah… sure”

**Author's Note:**

> you can come talk to me at my tumblr miraculouseyracat


End file.
